


Twice

by ghost_ofutopia



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_ofutopia/pseuds/ghost_ofutopia
Summary: He created the art - something that has always been a whole life for Murdoc. The only friend, the only teacher, the only bright example. The only joy, the only love, the only happiness. Only art can make him speak pompously, sometimes even somewhat trivial, but sincerely. Gently. Only art. And 2D. But 2D is an art too.





	Twice

Another cigarette flies into an ashtray, filled to the top with decayed cigarette butts. Seems like it was twentieth – he lost count long ago. He wearily rubs the back of his head with a stiff hand and throws his head back, peering at the cracked ceiling.

His head is empty. Absolute emptiness, which happened only when he got drunk to unconsciousness, after that seems like he started beating 2D... or he just imagined that? Anyway, in the late afternoon, the kid still was coming to his bedroom, holding pills in one hand and a transparent glass of water in the other. And he was smiling slightly. Sadly like he was holding back tears, but still smiling.

His hand threw a stack of crumpled papers into the wall. Murdoc was breathing deeply, grinding his teeth, trying to keep the anger that was rising inside. He must learn how to keep himself together, he must not constantly succumb to this flock of cockroaches devouring the remnants of his nervous system, otherwise...

Suddenly he heard familiar sounds that were coming from the ground floor. It seems to be the keys. Fucking keys, for a complete undermining of man’s patience only they lacked. There is only one person on this damn island who really knows how to handle them what means... Murdoc’s going to kill him now.

Going down to the ground floor, he sincerely tries to calm down the raging nerves and trembling in his hands, but nothing practically comes out; only breathing becomes a little calmer. The elevator doors open, and the sounds feel like tangible. Muds enters the corridor but freezes in the doorway after reaching the room.

2D sits behind a scratched synthesizer, cowering from the air cooled by the night ocean. The oldest one, Murdoc said long time ago that its place was in a dump, but the kid stubbornly didn’t want to part with him. The synthesizer is plastered with a variety of pictures to such an extent that it's impossible to know it has a light blue in color. Just like his hair. Just like his eyes before injuries.

The knees of his thin legs are tightly pressed together, as if they were bound. Eyelids were lowered and if his long fingers weren’t fluttering above the keys, Murdoc would think that he was sleeping. But 2D wasn’t asleep - quite vigorously, although obviously cautiously, he was playing some kind of light melody, without even noticing how his empty eyes were gleaming by themselves.

Murdoc can’t move – doesn’t dare. It seemed that he’d take one more step and the guy would shy away from him as from a fire, get into a corner and never touch the keys again. Although Niccals knows that this won’t happen, cause 2D loves music too much, and the biggest thing what he, Murdoc, can do is just tu give him weight on the head, but breaking off this moment still seems to him to be a crime.

Gentle music fills a small room, and something trembling inside the man – it seems to be his heart. And now, once again, Murdoc covers his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath and opens his eyelids, pretending that this is not his heart beating inside his ribs like a locked bird. This is a wonderful feeling that warms him with a heat, making him think and say things that he’s never expected from himself.

It has always been the art - the only bright spot in the continuous darkness of his life. When father kicked him on the scene, forcing to entertain the vile booze ghouls. When his brother tried to score him to death, stretching his lips in a sadistic smile. When it seemed like there wasn’t a single chance to break out of the God’s forgotten hole, which served as his home. When the next neighbor boy thought it’s his duty to ridicule him for the lack of the opportunities that he had, the spoiled idiot. Just like 2D...

2D. Sleek and cherished by his parents, the same imbeciles as he was himself. Typical ideal family with law-abiding parents, faithful spouses, a diligent son. The obedient darling Stu, who has never stood up to his parents across their throat, unconditionally followed all the “advice” and finally buried his desires under their pressure. Termite workers tried to make the same termite out of their son. Don't stand out, don't want too much, don't set high goals - you won't reach them anyway.

Murdoc remembers the boy’s story — well it’s rather a drunken revelation — about his childhood football dream. However when D tried to give a hint about this his father suppressed all hopes in the bud, convincing Stu that he was simply unable to achieve what he wanted. You shouldn’t want something impossible. What a nasty limited bastard.

Every time when he was watching the boy during the creative process the feeling of resentment did’t leave him - resentment for a child whose dreams were trampled into the dirt no less than his own. Not so rough, not so sharp, but no less painful. How was it possible to inspire this gifted boy that he could not conquer any peak? How could an ideal family convince 2D of his triviality? He's a magician.

No, seriously, just listen to his music, his voice – it is a pure magic. With all his nearness the boy sometimes managed to get a couple of phrases to get the greatest fears out of Murdoc’s subconscious, making him relive them again, and again, and again. He seemed not to think at all - he felt, and his feelings were formed into sincere songs that couldn’t leave indifferent even a hardened Satanist. And every time 2D was just turning a puzzled look of darkened eyes at him, as if he didn’t know how wonderful his work was. But not gonna lie, it was.

Murdoc used to convince himself of his own uniqueness over and over again. 2D has never considered himself to be so, and for a man it was something monstrous. It’s impossible, unacceptable for this young genius to consider himself mediocre and at every opportunity Murdoc was showering his vocalist with compliments. A strangely silly miracle, who still sincerely believed that Christmas presents under the Christmas tree branch cut down by Muds in a park and decorated with paper festoons which they had made together with Noodle steadily every year leaved real Santa. What a fool.

How can the same person believe in Santa Claus, at the same time giving out philosophical conclusions and creating masterpieces? 2D somehow managed to do it. He created the art - something that has always been a whole life for Murdoc. The only friend, the only teacher, the only bright example. The only joy, the only love, the only happiness. Only art can make him speak pompously, sometimes even somewhat trivial, but sincerely. Gently. Only art. And 2D. But 2D is an art too.

Sounds disappear, the room plunges into dead silence. 2D sits motionless for a moment, and then, like coming out of a trance, turns his head toward the man and his gaze becomes disturbing.

"М-Мuds..." The guy mumbles fearfully, but Murdoc quickly dispels his fears.

"What did you just play?"

At first 2D slams his long eyelashes, as if he didn’t understand the essence of what had been said.

"Oh... I think I heard it in Grey's Anatomy..."

"What is the name of the song? Who sings it?" Murdoc speaks quickly like during interrogation, but having stumbled upon 2D’s confused look, he sighs heavily and rubs his eyes tiredly. "Do you at least remember the episode?"

The guy immediately revives and willingly nods like a dummy.

"Yes, I’ve written it down for myself in order not to forget," he begins to examine his pockets in search of his little notebook, turning his eyes from his jeans to a man and back. To that one with a pink jellyfish, for which the boy for some reason drew face with a smile from ear to ear. Or what those jellyfishes have. "Ohh... Where it is..."

Murdoc just rolls his eyes and nervously scratches his elbow with his nails, trying to get rid of the tension that didn’t let him go after what he heard. 2D hasn’t let up, trying to find his notes, but Niccals couldn’t stand it first.

"Let’s go to the studio, you can find it on the way," he’s already started turning towards the elevator, when suddenly hears an unsure quiet voice behind him.

"But you... why do you need it?.."

Murdoc smirks after turning around and comes closer to pat the bewildered kid on the shoulder.

"I have an idea. You’re gonna like it, believe me."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Juwelia for the translation of my work.


End file.
